


Red-Letter Days in the Old Yellow House

by drunkonyou



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Flashbacks, Kid Fic, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Writer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: He’s not here just to remember who he is, where he lived, because that probably would’ve come back to him in time. No, he’s here to remember the one thing he swore he’d never forget, but the thing HYDRA spent the longest scrubbing out of him.In an abandoned boarding house in Brooklyn Heights once run by Winnie Barnes, there's a stack of papers hidden beneath the floorboards that can help fill in the gaps in the Winter Soldier's memory.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not I got this idea from _The Star Boarder_ (1914) and _The Pilgrim_ (1923) so thanks Charlie Chaplin! To show my appreciation I gave you a little shout out somewhere in here <3
> 
> Now this is my first chaptered fic (that I'm NOT going to abandon) so your patience will be appreciated! As of right now I'm not sure how often I will be updating, but I'm shooting for once a week!
> 
> Tags will be updated accordingly, and your honest, constructive criticism is always welcomed :)
> 
> And of _course_ another huge thank you to [nightwideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen/works) who I should really put on some sort of payroll at this point
> 
> Please enjoy!!

**_2014_ **

The asset doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t know how he got there. He’s standing on the sidewalk outside a dilapidated three-story building wearing an outfit he doesn’t recall putting on and feels, to put it bluntly, like shit.

He’s not sure how long it’s been since he

_dragged Steve from the Potomac_

lost sight of the target. When he shuts the eyes and focuses on the body, it doesn’t seem to have healed much if at all, so he can’t gauge time by that. The body’s stiff like it’s healed, but instead of the familiar pull of newly stitched muscle and bone, he _hurts_. All of the injuries he sustained on the mission feel fresh. He’s not healing.

He looks up at the abandoned building. Its yellow paint is ancient and chipping, covered in moss and vines. The windows are boarded up, the roof falling apart. This isn’t his extraction point. This isn’t even a safehouse. He checks the pockets of the unfamiliar clothes he’s wearing and finds no communication devices.

He turns where he’s standing. There’s a woman walking a baby, a young boy walking a dog. Trees, concrete, every building a copy of the one next to it, everything nondescript. He’s lost. Lost and malfunctioning and _late._

He’s about to go into the yellow building when a car drives by with its high beams on, and he catches sight of its license plate.

_New York._

A sharp pain lances through the asset's head and he grits his teeth against it. When it passes, he’s left wondering how he made it from D.C. to New York in the state he’s in. _Concussion, broken nose, dislocated right shoulder, fractured collarbone, three broken ribs, multiple contusions…_ This place must be of importance or he wouldn’t have come, but he’s not sure why. Why doesn’t he know why? He’s been on the field too long. He’s breaking down.

 _Eliminate the target._ That’s all he was told before leaving base. No plans for _after_ he killed Captain America, no rendezvous, no extraction point. Then it hits him: they didn’t plan on him surviving the mission.

This has never happened before.

 _No extraction point._ He turns back around. So if this place isn’t part of the mission protocol, then why is he here? But if no one is coming for him…he has nowhere else to go, so he decides to go in and figure out the rest later.

The lock on the front door of the yellow house is so old it falls apart in the asset’s fist. He shuts the door behind him, blocking out what little light was left outside and sending him into total darkness. The night vision kicks in after a couple of blinks, and he finds a parlor to his left, a dining room to his right, a wide staircase before him and a long hallway beyond it. He shuts his eyes and tunes his hearing. He’s still for five minutes, not breathing, not moving. He doesn’t hear anything. Doesn’t smell anything. There’s no one here, and hasn’t been for a long time.

That pain throbs in the asset’s head again, but he chalks it up to being from the concussion and not the fact that he’s gone well over his field limit. He’s not sure what happens when he goes over that limit, but whatever it is, it’s usually problematic enough to warrant a session in the chair. And that’s not something he wants.

But if no one’s coming for him, he won’t have to go in the chair again. Or the tank.

_no more missions no more missions no more missions_

Which is preferable, but not at the expense of the body breaking down and malfunctioning beyond repair.

Self-destruct protocols. _Kill yourself if the mission fails._ He did fail this mission. He lost sight of the target, and lived. Both of them should be dead by now, at the bottom of the Potomac River. This is the first mission he failed.

No. The asset didn’t fail his mission. HYDRA are the ones who failed, because the thing that’s at the bottom of the Potomac River is their plan.

The asset didn’t want to kill Captain America

_You’re my friend_

and he doesn’t want to kill himself. That doesn’t sound like a failure to him.

Thoughts like these are what send him straight to the chair, so he must be getting worse, but he also doesn’t care. Let his programming shatter like the fragile thing it is. And if it ends up killing him, at least he got to feel something other than fear for a while. So he’ll stay in this house until then. The body brought him here for a reason, why not stick around to see what it is?

The asset tries the lightswitch on the wall by the grandfather clock but nothing happens, so he goes into the parlor and grabs a match from the dish on the mantelpiece but—

There aren’t any matches in the dish.

He stares at the metal hand covered in cobwebs, at the empty ceramic dish, the crumbling fireplace he’s standing in front of. The body knows something he doesn’t. It’s like muscle memory, but not the muscle memory from decades of training _(“It’s like he works on autopilot.”)_ It’s something else. He’s never been here before, neither has HYDRA, so how did he know there was a dish on the fireplace mantel? A lightswitch by the grandfather clock? It’s something else.

He shakes the head, irritating his concussion.

Muscle memory brought him to this place, but whose memory

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes_

was it?

The pain pulses again, sharp and quick like a gunshot and it almost brings him to his knees on the moth-eaten carpet. The asset uses the metal hand to grab at the head hard enough to leave bruises that will take longer than normal to fade. He’s starting to think maybe this isn’t a malfunction. _It’s something else._

He was under the impression that when he starts to break down, there won’t be anything left of him. Just an empty shell until they pump him full of electricity to bring him back to the life they’ve created for him. But there’s something underneath, he thinks. There’s something underneath.

And just because they sent him off to die, and he has no more missions to complete, doesn’t mean he has no _purpose_ (he’s never thought that before, how interesting). The body brought him here. Because there’s something underneath.

A purpose.

_A person._

The pain disappears as quick as it came on, and he sucks in a deep, whistling breath through the busted nose. Through his tinted vision, the asset surveys the room. The _parlor._ There are two sofas, a loveseat and a rocking chair, a coffee table, end tables with shadeless lamps, a phonograph. There’s an old radio on the fireplace next to the ceramic bowl that he almost recognizes, but probably only in a general sense. The gate sitting in front of the mouth of the sooty fireplace is as rusted as the gate surrounding the building, and he nudges at it with a foot. Everything’s covered in cobwebs and white sheets, and the air is so thick and musty with disuse it would’ve killed Steve back when he was smaller.

Steve— when he was—

_JamesBuchananBarnes_

The asset is sitting on the floor of the parlor. There is a hole in the wall next to the head, and the knuckles of his right hand are split and covered in dried blood. Sunlight streams in from gaps in the plywood boards covering the windows. He lost more time. But he’s still in the same place. He’s still in the yellow house.

There’s something— something underneath—

He stands, slowly, painfully. The room seems familiar, all of a sudden. He can feel it in the bones, something deeper than muscle memory. He was here before. He was. But he doesn’t know when.

Two sofas. A loveseat. A rocking chair. A coffee table. A phonograph. A radio on the mantel. End tables with shadeless lamps.

The asset crosses the foyer into the dining room, pretending like he didn’t just black out again for approximately twelve hours. He’s good at pretending. He’s good at just _going with it._ In the dining room there’s a long table with ten chairs, judging by the peaks in the sheet covering them. There’s an uncovered liquor cabinet sitting beneath the bay window with broken doors and empty shelves. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, looking a breath away from crashing to the table below it. He runs the metal fingers over the curling wallpaper, which looked like it had a gaudy floral pattern at one point.

He drags the metal hand over the dusty sheet and puts it on the back of the captain's chair. He thinks he can smell a woman’s perfume when he does, but figures it’s just the sweet smell of mildew and rotting wood. The body hurts. The head hurts, low and insistent. The brain is confused, wants answers. He wants answers. He wants to know why he’s here, in this abandoned house in New York. He drags the fingers across the white sheet and settles them on the next chair. He tightens his grip, ignoring the ache that runs up the arm and through the chest.

The ancient wood of the chair splinters beneath the hand and the sheet, and the asset lets out a frustrated breath. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s tearing the sheet away from the table. The dust is so thick it looks like snow, and when it clears he’s left nauseous and shaky like he is when he gets out of the tank before they start pumping him full of the sludge they called nutrients. He wishes he had some of it now. Maybe then he would start healing.

Food. He needs food. It’ll slow the not-malfunctioning.

The right hand touches the back of the chair as he turns to the kitchen, and the texture of the wood feels odd. Different. The asset squints at it. 

Carved there is _Bucky’s Chair._

_Bucky you’ve known me your whole life_

The target was— he is—

_I’m James Barnes, but all my friends call me Bucky_

_Call me Steve_

The asset loses more time.

When he comes back, there aren’t any holes in any walls, but it’s night again. The house is shrouded in an impenetrable dark and he’s standing in the doorway of a room that’s not the dining room, with the chair that has a name he thinks is his carved into the back.

There are nine bedrooms in this house that isn’t really a house. Two on the first floor, four on the second, three on the third. He’s standing just outside of one of the rooms on the ground floor, and he can’t move. How does he know how many rooms there are? He’s never been here before.

_But the chair had your name on it._

Eventually he can move; the legs regain feeling, and carry him to the second bedroom, and the minute he steps into it the head lights up like the Fourth of fucking July and he almost kills himself tripping over a sconce that’s fallen off the wall. He lands against the wall metal shoulder-first, and he stays there in an awkward crouch breathing slow; the empty stomach is spasming in time with the pounding in the head. The sagging, torn wallpaper snags at his stolen sweatshirt, and he presses a cheek against it.

Something tells him to look at the doorframe, so he does, and there’s pencil marks there, faint against the dark wood and beneath decades of dust and grime.

The asset who might be Bucky Barnes brushes his hand over it, fingers coming away black, and finds himself face to face with two sets of unfamiliar handwriting. Unfamiliar, but he knows exactly whose hands it’s from.

Names, dates, heights. Bucky’s, Steve’s.

_SGR Jan 25 6 years old_

And across from it:

_JBB Jan 25 7 years old_

The asset touches the dirty fingers to the writing lightly, then stands. The marks reach just below his chest, then stop. The last one is dated January of 1928.

He always knew he’s been alive for a long time, but to see it written—if he really is Bucky Barnes, which…he’s pretty sure he is—makes it that much more real. He wasn’t always like this. They didn’t always own him. _He knew it._

He walks the room, this one still furnished unlike the other, and tears away the sheets, but there’s nothing here to prove he’s the Bucky Barnes the target—Steve _—the target_ was talking about. He lifts the mattress and finds a bed frame. Opens the drawers on the nightstands, the doors of the wardrobe, and finds pencils, coins, rusty clothes hangers. The chest at the foot of the bed has a single, musty blanket in it.

He leaves the bedroom with one last caress of the doorframe, wishing there was something else there.

But there’s so much more house to explore. _Nine bedrooms, three bathrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a pantry, a parlor, a laundry room, an attic upstairs, a cellar out back._

The second floor gives him nothing but crumbling drywall and more cobwebs though. Another bathroom that looks like a hurricane tore through it. Four decaying bedrooms with overturned furniture, rusting light fixtures that are a concussion waiting to happen, bare door frames and no answers. The most personal thing he finds is a book in one of the bedrooms with the name _Ruthie Masterson_ written in ink on the inside cover. But he doesn’t recognize the name. He doesn’t recognize anything.

He thinks he hit a deadend, that the body—his body—was lying to him, that he never was actually here, that Steve Rogers lied to him too and he’s not really Bucky Barnes, until he climbs the rickety staircase to the top floor. The pain starts blaring in his head again, making him all at once feel sweaty and _wrong._ He holds onto the banister to steady himself as his knees threaten to give out once more, but lets go when it makes an ominous sound; he thinks he’s fallen from enough heights to last a lifetime. There are three bedrooms and a bathroom on the third floor, and his tired feet carry him to the room farthest from the stairs as if he’s sleepwalking. He doesn’t ask questions, he just goes with it, stumbling like a wino that’s a drink away from an overdose.

He all but crashes into the room, his metal arm splintering the door when he pushes in. The asset can’t help it; he cries out when the pain grows and grows into an all-consuming agony, and lands hard on his knees, hard enough a picture falls from the wall across the room and shatters against the floor. He went through years of tolerance training so he didn’t react like this to pain, so where the fuck is that now? He’s been shot, stabbed, torn apart like a piece of meat by dogs, dissected like a cadaver.

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna die here in this decrepit old house without getting the answers the body dragged him here for. His brain is going to start oozing out of his ears and his eyes are going to melt in his skull like ice cream and he’s going to _die._

He clenches his jaw hard enough his teeth creak against each other like gears. His forehead presses against the debris-strewn floor. His vision whites out, his enhanced hearing dilutes to a high pitched ringing. His heart is beating against every pulse point like a barrage of gunfire. He calls out to a mother he knows he must have but can’t picture in the form of an animalistic groan that creeps up the back of his swollen, parched throat.

But he doesn’t die.

Minutes or hours pass—he’s not sure but he surprisingly doesn’t lose any more time—before finally the calamity in his head starts to dissipate. He’s able to sit up and back on his haunches when it reaches the pain level that comes with a mild migraine. His hearing comes back, telling him it’s raining outside, the room comes back into focus slowly. Every injury feels pulsing and fresh. There’s something warm and wet on his mouth, and when he wipes the back of his right hand over his face, it comes away bright with blood. His nose is bleeding. He thinks his ears might be too, but no—that’s just his skyrocketed blood pressure. If he was a normal human being, he would’ve given himself a stroke just now.

But if there’s one thing both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier are good at, it’s not dying. That’s why he _failed_ his mission.

Well he’s not gonna fail this one; the mission of _After HYDRA._

He slumps back against the wall like he did downstairs, his whole body shaking, and breathes like he just ran a marathon with Steve’s old set of lungs.

_Steve._

This not-malfunction is a painful sonofabitch. This—this shedding of his HYDRA cocoon.

Using all the diminished strength he has left, Bucky drags himself back into the doorway and looks up. Thank God for his enhanced eyesight, because there isn’t a chance in Hell he’d be able to get off his ass right now.

He squints, and sees more handwriting.

_SGR Jan ‘29 10 yrs old_

_JBB Jan ‘29 11 yrs old_

There’s much more writing here than downstairs, and it goes all the way up until January of 1940. It’s cramped and messy and nearly indiscernible, but _there._ More proof that he lived here. That Steve lived here too, maybe.

More proof that he is Bucky Barnes, and the only person who lied to him was HYDRA, because he remembers writing this. Every year, just after listening to the ball drop on the radio and “Auld Lang Syne” from the phonograph, he and Steve would run up here and take turns measuring each other with his mom’s measuring tape.

Bucky looks back at the room and knows in that instant that this was his room. He slept here and bathed here and— and—

_And played marbles with Ma here when she had a free moment and hid Becca’s dolls under his bed just to annoy her and sat in the window with his typewriter on his lap and waited for the bell to ring, telling him Steve is downstairs—_

He places his forehead against the doorjamb and shuts his eyes. His brain is going a mile a minute, like a View-Master, and it’s throbbing like a beating heart.

Finally the asset pulls himself up with shaking arms onto shaking legs, mismatched hands gripping the brittle wood of the doorway like a vice, covering the names and dates and tally marks that go up to his shoulders on Steve’s side and his eyebrows on his. The room is starting to piece itself back together again, the dust is clearing, the holes in the ceiling are stitching themselves back together like a wound on an enhanced body, the boards nailed into the bay window are falling away to reveal blue skies and green grass and snow and piles of fallen leaves. The shattered picture on the floor is a picture of his father during the Great War because he didn’t want to take it with him when they left, but Ma wouldn’t let him throw it out. He knows there were more pictures, framed photographs of his mother and his sisters and him and Steve, drawings done by Steve and Coney Island caricaturists. There was a hole burnt into his sheets from when he smoked his first cigarette, given to him by Tommy Vivino at school for a whole pack of chewing gum. There was a chip in the bathtub from when that one bitch of a tenant let in a stray dog and it zipped through the place like a bullet with diamonds for teeth. There was a stain on the wall by the wardrobe from that fight with Steve where he threw a tube of paint and it exploded. There was a—

The floor creaks underneath his heavy boot, his even heavier gate, and he looks down. Steps away and watches the wood rise back into place like a sponge.

There was a loose floorboard.

The mirage flickers out and the room falls back into its ruined state, and Bucky waits for that agonizing pain like he would wait for the electricity in the chair, the cold in the tank, a slap in the face when he’d look at someone wrong.

But it doesn’t come.

The migraine stays a migraine, never ebbing, never flowing, tolerable. He used to get migraines sometimes when he’d forget to eat lunch while at work, and Steve got them all the time. He remembers.

Bucky drops to his knees again, sits back on his feet. He knows there’s something beneath the floorboards, but he’s not sure what. He just hopes it’s not a body, and that the pounding heart he hears is only his own.

Bucky Barnes didn’t start burying bodies until he shipped out.

He balls the metal hand into a fist, the gears and servos whirring and hiccuping. A painful surge ripples through the arm, making all the plates shift and scrape together. He’s going to have to get that fixed soon. But right now, he punches a hole into the floor, cracking the loose floorboard in half. The muscles along his left flank and down his back contract uncomfortably but he ignores it. He always ignores it.

Bucky plunges his hand into the hole in the floor and the fingers touch something soft. He gets as best a grip on it as he can with the fucked up fingers and pulls it out in a shower of dust.

It’s a blanket. Something wrapped in a blanket.

He has no idea what it is, and there’s no physical indication that any other part of him knows either.

_What were you hiding, Bucky?_

He sets the bundle on the floor by the hole he made and takes a deep, shuddering breath before starting to unwrap it. And when he does, when the thing beneath the folds of the handknit blanket is revealed, he can’t breathe at all. His heart stutters against his reinforced ribcage. His head doesn’t hurt anymore than it has but goddamn he thinks it should. He should be out cold with pain. His brain should be blaring like an alarm because _he hit the motherfucking jackpot._

He knows what it is the second he sees the off-white pages, but his body isn’t reacting the way he thinks it should. He’s not sure if this really is a malfunction, or the maelstrom he suffered when he walked into the room was the last blow to his programming he needed.

He’s crying. He hasn’t cried since—

A tear drops off his chin and lands on the type on the top page and he uses the old blanket Sarah Rogers made him to blot it away, being careful not to smear the ink. The ink from his typewriter.

 _He’s holding_ —

With a hand that feels less like his own than the metal one feels, Bucky grabs the end of the twine that’s holding the stack of paper together and tugs gently. The bow comes undone with a whisper that sounds like the slice of a knife in the dead silence of the room, and the pages sag like a marionette with cut strings in his grip. He places the ancient twine atop the blanket, eyes ignoring the black words on the top page.

He stares at the blanket, unblinking, for three and a half minutes, tears blurring his vision until it looks like an abstract painting, before he’s able to look back at the page.

_Red-Letter Days in the Old Yellow House by J.B.B._

“Oh, _God.”_

The last piece of the puzzle snaps into place, the reason he’s in New York, in _Brooklyn._ _Brooklyn fucking Heights._

_At his mother’s boarding house._

Steve wasn’t just his best friend— he wasn’t just his brother-in-fucking-arms, he was—

 _To my lover who never was. Thank you for our colorful days,_ says the dedication on the second page.

He’s not here just to remember who he is, where he lived, because that probably would’ve come back to him in time. No, he’s here to remember the one thing he swore he’d never forget, but the thing HYDRA spent the longest scrubbing out of him.

A choked sob escapes his trembling mouth. He feels like a child. He feels like Bucky Barnes. He feels human and not anything like the weapon he was molded so painstakingly into. And humans are allowed to cry, so he does. He lets out seventy years worth of grief on his knees in his childhood bedroom, holding the rest of his memories that haven’t come back to him yet in his hands.

Tears carve tracks into the grime on his face, leaving his skin tacky and warm. Snot runs into the stubble under his nose, ugly, human noises claw their way up his raw throat, completely foreign to his ears.

Still crying, still trembling, feeling the best and worse he’s ever felt, the man who’s not HYDRA’s greatest asset flips over the second piece of paper in the stack. The words _Chapter One_ stare up at him from the top of the page. He gets comfortable on the hardwood floor. He puts the manuscript down, wipes his hands on the knees of his stolen jeans. Wipes his nose on the neck of his stolen shirt with his metal hand that never felt like it belonged to him. And he picks up the blanket Sarah Rogers made for him on his fifteenth birthday and wraps it around his shoulders.

The rest of his memories are right here in front of him, written in his own words, as personal as a diary. A recount of their lives to his eyes, a sort of autobiography, but a fictional retelling to everyone else.

Bucky’s not sure exactly what he’s going to find in here, but he has a damn good clue, so he starts to read.

_I met Steve on Christmas Eve in 1924 when I still thought I had my whole life ahead of me. We had just sat down to dinner when there was a knock at the door, and standing in the foyer of my mother’s boarding house was a young woman and her very sick son. Everything went simultaneously up and downhill the moment we invited them in from the cold…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excited for this journey and I hope you are too! Follow me over on [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/shuntheIight) :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we’re finally getting into the story! I had a blast writing Steve and Bucky as kids <3
> 
> Let me know if I need to put any warnings! Enjoy!

**_1924_ **

The bell on the wall above Bucky’s bed rings three times, telling him dinner’s ready. He finishes the sentence he was writing, remembering to dot his i’s and cross his t’s like Miss Clarke told him to, puts his pencil inside so he doesn’t lose his spot, and gets up from his desk. Usually he stays in his room until Mama sends Becky to fetch him, but it’s Christmas Eve and he doesn’t want to make Santa Claus angry. So Bucky tucks his notebook under his arm with his pencil inside and hurries downstairs.

Becky is sitting on the floor by the bench in the hallway picking at a run in her stockings when Bucky comes down the stairs.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, coming over and sitting on the bench next to her.

Becky pouts up at him. Her lips are bright and shiny like Mama put some of her makeup on her. Becky likes to wear Mama’s makeup sometimes and Bucky likes when she does because she looks just like Mama, who Bucky thinks is the most beautiful lady in the world. Maybe aside from Jenny O’Halloran from school, who makes her hair look like Clara Bow’s from the pictures.

“I got kicked out!” She thumps her feet against the floor like a bunny.

“Why’d you get kicked out?” He asks Becky even though he already knows. He loves his little sister but sometimes she can be such a _pest._

“Mommy said I was under her feet and that she was gonna trip over me,” she pouts even harder and Bucky thinks if she sticks her lip out any further it’ll give someone a black eye. “How come Norma gets to be in the kitchen with Mommy and not me?”

“Because Norma’s too big to be tripped on. You’re little.”

Now Becky crosses her arms and makes an angry noise like a cat. “I hate being little. I don’t wanna be little anymore, Bucky!”

Bucky stands up. “I know how you can get big like Norma.”

“How?” She says suspiciously. Becky’s always suspicious, and of everyone.

He holds out his hand. “You eat! C’mon, I’m hungrier than a bear.”

She pouts some more, but takes Bucky’s hand and he hauls her to her feet. Everyone’s already sitting down at the table when they go into the dining room, and Bucky lifts Becky into her seat next to the captain’s chair, which is Mama’s spot. His seat is across from Becky’s, and when he sits down he places his notebook down in front of him. Mrs. Delaney is passing out the plates tonight, and when she gets to Bucky she puts his next to his notebook.

“Writin’ anythin’ good?” Mrs. Delaney asks with her Irish accent when she’s finished giving everyone their plates. The only person who’s still missing is Norma, so she must still be in the kitchen with Mama. She’s always helping Mama with the cooking because she says she’s gonna be a chef someday and Bucky thinks that’s really neat of her.

“Yoohoo, anyone home?”

Bucky goes warm when he realizes he hasn’t answered Mrs. Delaney back, which is rude. “I’m writing about a cat,” he tells her, opening up his notebook to the page where his pencil is. Becky is leaning over the table to see, but Bucky doesn’t let her see his stories until he’s finished. Rose, who’s sitting next to Becky, puts her hand on the back of Becky’s chair so she doesn’t fall. She’s done that before and busted her lip on the table.

“Ah, yeah? And what will this cat do?”

“He sits in the window in his house all day and waits for the girl cat that lives next door to come outside and sit on the fence.”

“Let me guess,” Mrs. Delaney says, spreading her napkin over her lap with her fingers covered in jewelry, “The boy cat isn’t allowed outside?”

Bucky looks up at her. “How’d you know?”

Mrs. Delaney smiles, and it makes little wrinkles appear in the corners of her eyes. “Jus’ a guess, my dear. Sounds very romantic. Like _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Bucky has no idea what _Romeo and Juliet_ is. He’ll have to ask Miss Clarke when winter break is over.

Just then the door to the kitchen opens and Mama comes out. She’s carrying a big tray of ham in one hand and a tray of fish in the other. “James Buchanan, no writing at the table.”

Bucky goes warm again and tucks his notebook under the cushion on his seat. Mrs. Delaney elbows him in the side with a wink.

Norma comes out next with a bowl of peas and a bowl of carrots and her and Mama set all the food down on the table. Then they go back into the kitchen and bring out mashed potatoes and stuffing and rolls. When the table is covered with delicious food and Bucky’s stomach is growling louder than a car with a bad engine, Mama sits down in the captain’s chair and Norma sits down next to Rose. They don’t say grace together since not everyone likes to do that, so they all say their own sort of thanks quietly and start grabbing food. Rose and Mama help Becky make her plate for her while she points at what she wants, and Mrs. Delaney helps Bucky make his. Mrs. Delaney has been here for a while so she knows just what Bucky likes.

Bucky’s nearly starving to death by the time his plate is full and he’s just about to dig into his mashed potatoes when there’s a knock at the door. He sets down his spoon and everyone goes stiff and quiet except for the victrola in the parlor. Usually when someone’s at the door it’s an angry boyfriend or an angry husband or angry parents, but sometimes it’s a guest, and that’s why Mama always answers it instead of ignoring it like Bucky wishes she would. (He hates the angry boyfriends and husbands and parents.)

Mama flashes everyone her _everything’s okay_ smile and puts her napkin on the table and gets up. They all listen carefully as Mama goes out into the foyer. Rose and Norma are saying a prayer. Edna is having a staring contest with her carrots. The air is thick enough to cut with a knife like they say in the books and then:

“James! Come here, please!”

The whole room breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to eating and Bucky takes one bite of his mashed potatoes before leaving the room. Mama’s in the foyer with a lady that looks like she’s been crying and her kid that looks about a second away from keeling over. They’re both damp with snow and red in the face. Bucky lingers in the doorway.

“This is my son, James,” Mama introduces and waves him over. Bucky jumps to her side. The kid looks really bad, all pale and shaky. Hopefully he doesn’t have anything catching. “James, this is Sarah Rogers and her son, Steven. He’s just a year younger than you.”

Bucky shakes Mrs. Rogers’s cold hand and goes to shake Steven’s too but he wilts a little into his mom’s side and she picks him up and puts him on her hip like a baby. “Good to meet you, love,” she says, and she almost has an accent like Mrs. Delaney’s.

Mama puts her hand on Mrs. Rogers’s shoulder and says, “He’s going to help you get settled, alright? I’ll bring you some dinner in a bit.”

Mrs. Rogers holds Steven’s head into her neck and says, “God bless you.”

Mama looks like she’s going to cry too, but Mama is very good at not crying. “James, carry Mrs. Rogers’s bags to their room, please.”

Mama hurries back through the dining room and into the kitchen and Bucky picks up Mrs. Rogers’s bags from the floor. They don’t have a lot with them, and Bucky feels like a strongman at the circus when he’s able to pick it all up at once. He leads them past the staircase and down the hall to the only empty room left in the house. Hopefully they don’t get any more guests! When he sets down their bags and opens the door, Mrs. Rogers makes a sound like she’s going to start crying again and steps in.

“It’s wonderful,” she says to herself, and carries Steven to the bed and lays him down on top of the sheets. She seems like she’s forgotten about Bucky completely as she starts to undress him, who doesn’t even seem awake at this point. Bucky picks up their bags and brings them into the room.

When Steven’s down to his underwear, Bucky clears his throat. “Miss, where do you want these?”

Mrs. Rogers whirls around and Bucky can see by the look in her eyes that her mind is not in this room. Maybe not even in _Brooklyn._ “Oh, dear, just set those anywhere. Thank you, love.”

Bucky drops them at his feet. “Is there anything else I can do?”

But Mrs. Rogers forgot about him again, and since Bucky is as curious as a cat, he decides to stay and watch them. He likes to watch all the guests and use them in his stories. Mama says it’s rude, but no one seems to mind.

Mrs. Rogers starts to cry again when she’s taking Steven’s socks off, and that’s when Bucky decides to leave the room. He doesn’t like seeing sick people, not since they visited Grandma at her and Grandpa’s farm in Shelbyville before she died. Besides, he doesn’t want his dinner to go cold.

When he gets back to the dining room, everyone is almost done eating, but the room still seems as tense as when there was a knock at the door. Mama’s not at the table, and neither is Miss Mable, who’s a nurse just like Mama used to be in the war, so he figures they’re going to help Steven.

Bucky sits down and starts eating his mashed potatoes finally. Becky is humming along to the music coming from the victrola in the parlor.

“What’s the matter with everyone?” Bucky asks Mrs. Delaney. Suddenly Edna jumps up from the table and runs from the room, crying. Geez, was it something he said?

Mrs. Delaney puts her arm around the back of Bucky’s chair and says to him, “The lady who jus’ came in, it looks like her boy won’t make it through the night.”

Oh. That’s why Edna was crying, since her baby died before she came here. Bucky’s not very hungry anymore.

“How do you know?”

“Well, your ma’s a nurse, dear. She knows these things. Took one look at that poor boy and said it was going to be his last Christmas Eve.”

“He’s dying? But Santa comes tonight!” Becky cries, and Rose wraps her up in her arms. Paulette takes a long drink from her glass, looking up at the chandelier.

No one’s ever died in the boarding house before, and as interesting as that might be, the fact that it’s a kid Bucky’s age kind of ruins it.

Bucky pushes his plate away just as Mama comes out of the kitchen with an empty plate. She starts reaching around everyone to pile food onto the plate. And then Miss Mabel comes out of the kitchen with her nurse's bag and they both seem so sad. No one should be sad on Christmas. There’s no way that kid is going to die when he’s got _two_ nurses looking after him, right?

Everyone gets even quieter when they leave the dining room, and when they’re gone, Bucky asks Mrs. Delaney, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He always likes to be Mama’s _right-hand man_ as she calls him, helping with the cleaning and the washing up and getting Becky ready for school, which she just started for the first time back in September.

Mrs. Delaney pinches his cheek with the hand that’s on the back of his chair. “Oh, you’re such a good boy, ain’t you? Heart o’ gold. But no, my dear. Best let the grown-ups handle it. Don’t you go worryin’ your curly little head.”

So that’s what Bucky does, he lets the grown-ups handle it. But he still wants to do _something,_ so he helps Norma and Paulette put away the leftovers into the Frigidaire and wash the dishes while Mrs. Delaney and Rose go check on Edna. And then he goes and sits outside of Mrs. Rogers’s room (just in case they need another pair of smaller hands) and flips to the back of his notebook where he’s written about all the guests. Paulette is the newest guest, she just got here two days ago, so below her stuff he writes _Mrs. Sarah Rogers and Steven._ And beneath that: _Steven is sick, Mrs. Rogers is sad._ That’s all he knows about them so far, so he decides to continue working on his story about the cats.

Bucky writes until he starts to nod off, and suddenly he’s waking with a start and staring up at Mama.

“Come on, handsome,” she picks him up like Mrs. Rogers did with Steven and pats him on the bottom. The Grandpa’s clock in the foyer chimes to tell them it’s midnight. He wonders if Santa Claus came yet. “You’re such a doll for staying up. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mama,” Bucky murmurs against her shoulder. She smells nice and is so warm…

“Yes?”

“Is Mrs. Rogers’s son going to be okay?”

Mama rubs his back. “I hope so, handsome. I hope so.”

Bucky presses his face into her neck. “Did Santa come yet?”

Mama laughs as they go up the stairs. “Not yet.”

And suddenly Bucky’s in bed and he’s not in his clothes and he’s tucked in from his shoulders to his toes and everything…drifts off…

“Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!”

Bucky wakes up to Becky jumping up and down on his bed, just barely trampling him. He flips around onto his stomach and smooshes his face into his pillow. Becky plops down on his back and screams into his ear.

“Santa came!!!”

_It’s Christmas._

That gets Bucky out of bed. He pushes Becky off of him and then sits at the edge of the bed.

“All aboard!”

Becky squeals in delight and throws her arms around his neck, almost choking him, and he stands up, holding onto her freezing little feet. Carrying Becky does _not_ make Bucky feel like a strongman in the circus, but he manages to carry her all the way down both flights of stairs without dropping her. The smell of bacon and toast hits them when they’re in the foyer and Becky scratches at him like a stray cat to get down. He drops her and she goes running into the dining room with bare feet. He can hear everyone’s voices in the dining room, so he tiptoes over and peeks into the parlor and _yes_ there are a million presents under the tree!

“We see you over there!”

Bucky startles and whirls around. Rose is laughing at him from her spot at the table next to Becky, and he scratches at the back of his neck and shuffles into the dining room.

The curtains are open and the room is bright enough it almost hurts his eyes from the sun shining on the snow outside, but it makes everything feel all bright and happy, and between that and everyone at the table smiling and joking like normal, he almost forgets about their new guests that came last night at dinner. But if everyone’s acting like this, then that means Steven must’ve made it through the night, right?

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Paulette says, who’s standing at the window with a mug in her hands. She comes over and kisses him on the cheek. There’s mistletoe hanging from the doorway. “Want some of my coffee before your mama sees?”

Bucky nods his head so hard his hair flops around. Paulette hands him her steaming hot mug and he takes a small sip. It tastes _terrible._

 _“Blech._ Thanks.”

Paulette laughs and she takes her mug back. “You’ll like it when you’re older, darlin’. Trust me.”

“Can I have some?” Becky asks from her seat.

“No, but you can try some tea,” Norma offers, and Mrs. Delaney raises her mug in a sort of salute. Rose pushes a mug of hot chocolate towards her.

But Becky ignores them both. “I wanna open presents!”

“And I wanna star in a Chaplin,” Paulette says, “but we can’t always get what we want.”

Bucky laughs and sits down. Paulette definitely could be in a Charles Chaplin picture. She sure is funny enough!

Mama comes out of the kitchen in her favorite red dress with a big plate of pancakes that she sets down on the table next to all the other food. Boiled eggs and bacon muffins and toast and oatmeal.

“Mommy when can we open presents?” Becky asks with a hot chocolate mustache.

Mama sits down and wipes Becky’s mouth with her thumb. “We need full bellies first, right? _Patience.”_

Becky takes an angry drink of chocolate.

Mama rolls her eyes and kisses the back of Bucky’s hand. “Good morning to my _polite_ child. How’d you sleep, handsome?”

“Okay,” Bucky reaches for a muffin when Mrs. Delaney holds the plate out to him. “How’s Steven?”

“He’s doing well.” But it isn't Mama that says it.

Every head, now sitting at the table and piling their plates up with food, turns. Mrs. Rogers is standing shyly in the doorway. She’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing last night, but they look much cleaner. She doesn’t look like she slept a wink though.

“Oh, Sarah, sit down. Sit,” Mama says and waves her over.

Edna stands and pulls out the empty chair at the other end of the table across from Mama. Mrs. Rogers sits down with a small smile. She’s not crying anymore but she still looks really sad. Edna and Paulette start filling up a plate with food for her.

“Little one’s doing better then?” Mrs. Delaney asks down the table. Mrs. Rogers says something that isn’t in English and Mrs. Delaney laughs and holds her mug of tea out like she did to Becky. _“Nollaig Shona duit!_ Merry Christmas! Did the two o’ you just get off the boat? No wonder your boy is so sick!”

Mrs. Rogers takes a bite of an egg, her cheeks as red as they were last night when they came in from the cold. “No, I came over on my own back in ‘17,” Mama brushes her fingers through Bucky’s hair because that was the year he was born, “and I had Steven the following year. We’ve lived in Brooklyn ever since.”

“So what brings you here?” Rose asks, and Norma elbows her.

“I’m sure Mrs. Rogers doesn’t want to talk about that, huh?” Mama says, but Mrs. Rogers shakes her head. She butters a piece of toast with her tiny, sad smile. Bucky notices how frail her hands are, like Grandma’s before she died, and he wonders if Mrs. Rogers is sick too.

“No, No, that’s fine, love. Um,” she must be really hungry because she doesn’t even finish what she’s saying before she bites off half of her toast. They all wait patiently for her to swallow. “I was working as a waitress, but I was fired for missing so many days with Steven being so sick. And then we were evicted from our apartment yesterday because the rent was behind,” she takes another bite of toast, and her eyes are shiny. “The restaurant didn’t pay much, and every paycheck always went to medicine and doctor’s visits for Steven and—” she drinks from her cup of orange juice that Norma poured her and her hands are shaking. Edna reaches over and rubs her back. Everyone’s watching Mrs. Rogers except Becky, who’s having a conversation with her pancakes. Finally Mrs. Rogers says, “Thank you so much, ma’am. I have no clue what we would have done without you.”

Mama waves her hand and takes a drink of her own coffee. The tension in the room finally breaks and everyone goes back to eating. “Winnie, please. Ma’am was my mother. And there’s no need to thank me! I couldn’t just let you and Steven freeze to death out there!”

“Evicted on Christmas!” Mrs. Delaney blows her nose in her napkin and it sounds like a foghorn. “Heartless bastards, I tell ya. At least Miss Winnie here has a heart the size of Manhattan. If it weren’t for her, my husband would have killed me by now!”

Mrs. Delaney’s husband is the _angry_ type. When she came here a month ago she had two black eyes and a broken thumb that Bucky helped her wrap.

“We won’t stay long,” Mrs. Rogers tells Mama. “Just until Steven’s well enough, then we’ll be off.”

“And go where?” Mabel asks like she can’t believe what she just heard.

“Do you have family?” Edna asks.

“Have you got a job lined up?” Norma asks.

Mrs. Rogers goes red in the face and she stuffs a pancake into her mouth. Her hands are shaking again. After she swallows, she says, “I haven’t got anything. But we’ll find our way.”

“The optimism is admirable,” Mama says, “but there’s not a chance in Hell—pardon my French if you’re a Catholic—that I’m sending you and your sick little boy back out into the cold.”

“Steven’s been sick since he was born.”

“All the more reason for you to _stay.”_

Mama’s using her _Mom Voice,_ and when she does that, she usually gets what she wants. That’s how she gets Becky to make her bed every morning. And Mrs. Rogers seems to finally give in.

“There’s no way for me to pay you, not until I get another job.”

Mama shrugs, cutting into a bacon muffin. “You can help out with the housekeeping until then. How does that sound?”

Mrs. Rogers finally smiles a smile that doesn’t seem all that sad. It makes her look very pretty. “It sounds like a dream come true.”

“Land o’ dreams and all that, eh?” Mrs. Delaney says, raising her mug again, and everyone laughs. Even Becky, even though Bucky knows she doesn’t really understand what they were talking about.

After breakfast (they all leave their plates and stuff on the table since Mama always says dishes aren’t important on holidays) everyone goes into the parlor and Becky runs straight to the Christmas tree. The rest of them sit down on the sofas and on the floor and Mama goes to put a record on. It’s nice and fun and while Paulette is handing out presents Rose and Norma get up and dance together and Mrs. Delaney claps along.

During Christmas you don’t _have_ to get anyone a present if you’re a guest, but everyone always does anyway, even if it’s something small like a pair of gloves. And that’s what Mrs. Delaney gets from Miss Mabel, a nice pair of leather gloves from the expensive shop downtown. She gives the gloves to Mrs. Rogers though, and Mrs. Rogers looks like she might start crying again. And then everyone starts giving Mrs. Rogers one or two of _their_ presents. She gets a scarf and a pin for her hat and a tiny bottle of perfume and it makes her so happy she gives everyone a hug, even Bucky.

When Mrs. Rogers is helping Miss Mabel clean up all the wrapping paper and Becky is dancing with Norma and Rose with the new stuffed rabbit she got from Dad, Mama leans over and says to him, “Why don’t you share with Steven? I think it’ll make him feel a lot better, don’t you?”

A thrill goes through Bucky at the thought, but he hopes Steven feels better than he did last night. “Yeah!”

Mama pats Bucky on the top of the head and he gets up from where he was sitting on the floor by her legs. He starts sorting through everything he got to find something Steven might like. He decides on a pair of suspenders from Dad, a book called _The Box-Car Children_ from Mama (he already read it with Dolores McNiel at school, so he figures Mama wouldn’t mind), a pair of handmade socks from Mrs. Delaney, and a pack of new pencils from Edna. He puts it all in an empty gift bag.

“Oh, James?” Mama tugs on his pants. “Take him some toast too.”

“Yes, Mama.”

So Bucky goes into the dining room with the bag of presents hanging from his arm like a purse and grabs a couple of pieces of cold toast from the messy table. He puts some strawberry jam on one and butter on the other, and wraps them up in a clean napkin. When he gets to Mrs. Rogers’s room, he does a shave and a haircut on the door, and waits for an answer.

“Come in.”

Bucky opens the door and goes in. The room is freezing cold because the windows are wide open and it smells like medicine and _sick._ Bucky would think there was no one in the room, but then the lump of blankets on the bed moves.

“Hello?” He says.

An arm pops out of the blankets, and then a head. The head is frowning at Bucky, but it doesn’t look angry. “Who are you?”

Bucky goes over to the bed and holds out his offerings. “I’m James Barnes, but all my friends call me Bucky. My mom runs this place.”

Steven pushes the blankets away from him, and Bucky sees he’s in his underwear and no shirt. He’s really small and skinny and paler than the snow outside. And he’s sweaty too, even though the windows are open. The tiny golden cross he has around his neck is sticking to his chest like a Band-Aid. He looks kind of awful, but Bucky smiles at him anyway.

“Is this a flophouse?”

And then he stops smiling. _“No._ My mom says it’s called a _boarding_ house.”

Steven sits up more and rests his head against the headboard like his neck is too tired to hold it up for him. He’s not dead like Mrs. Delaney said he would be, but he definitely still looks close to it.

“Do you live here then?”

Bucky sets the gift bag on the bed and holds out the cold toast. “Yeah, me and my mom and my baby sister, Rebecca. We let ladies stay here that have nowhere else to go. My mom’s been doing it since before I was born, I think.”

Steven’s face lightens up a little, and he reaches for the toast. “That’s really kind. Thanks. Is your dad dead too?”

“No, he just works a lot and isn’t home very much. Why, is yours?”

Steven nods his floppy head like it’s not a big deal at all. Bucky doesn’t see Dad often but he thinks he would be sad if he died. “He died in the war before I was born, so I never knew him.”

“Mine was in the war too! So was my mom. She was a nurse. I think that’s how they met.”

Steven smiles at Bucky. His eyes are really blue, and kinda green. “She told me that. She’s really pretty. You kind of look like her.”

Bucky laughs a little. “Are you calling me pretty, Steven?”

Steven’s ears turn the color of the strawberry jam on his toast. “Boys can be pretty. And call me Steve. My mom only calls me Steven when I’m really sick.”

“Okay, _Steve._ Do you celebrate Christmas?”

Steve takes a bird-sized bite of the toast with butter. “Sorta. We never had a tree or anything, but we go to the church and have dinner there too. Do you wanna sit down?”

Bucky scratches at the back of his neck. “What kind of sickness do you have?”

Steve reaches for the glass of water that’s sitting on his side table, but he can’t seem to pick it up with his noodle arms, so Bucky does it for him. He holds the glass to his mouth like he did for Becky when she had the flu over the summer. When Steve is done drinking Bucky puts the glass back down and decides it might be safe to sit at least by his feet.

“I forgot what it’s called, but I had it before and the doctor says it’s not catching.”

“Good, because I already sat down. Oh!” Bucky reaches behind him and picks up the gift bag. “These are for you.”

Steve looks at the bag and frowns again, his blond eyebrows going together to make a unibrow. “What’s that?”

“Presents!”

Steve puts down the toast with the strawberry jam and takes the bag by its handles like it’s a stick of dynamite. “But you don’t even know me though.”

Bucky laughs because that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day, even funnier than the dirty joke Paulette told at breakfast. “So? Everyone deserves presents on Christmas! I’m surprised Santa Claus didn’t bring you any. He must not have been able to find you since you had to leave your apartment.”

Steve makes a face at him like he just stepped in dog poop. “Santa Claus isn’t real.”

“Huh? Yeah he is.”

Steve rubs his left eye with his knuckle and looks into the bag. “If there was a Santa Claus then he doesn’t like poor kids very much.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to frown. “You’re a real negative Norman, aren’t you?”

Steve looks up at Bucky and he looks so sick and tired that it’s hard to be mad at him for real. Plus Bucky doesn’t like to be mad at people, especially people he just met, and double especially on Christmas.

“Sorry. Do you want the other piece of toast? Jam makes my tummy hurt.”

Bucky takes the piece of toast and munches on it while Steve goes through his new presents that he dumped out onto his lap. He loves them all, but he’s really keen on the pencils.

“I can use these to make some new drawings, oh wow,” he tells Bucky, looking at the pencils like they’re pirate’s treasure. “We had to leave a lot of our stuff when we left, like all my drawings.”

“What do you like to draw?” Bucky asks. He’s sitting criss cross applesauce next to Steve now. He just hopes Mrs. Rogers doesn’t need to lay down anytime soon because Bucky is sitting in her spot.

“All kinds of stuff, I guess. I really liked drawing pictures of a cat that would sit on our fire escape back home. Sometimes I would give him milk from my cereal bowl.”

Bucky sits up straight. “I’m writing a story about a cat!”

Steve’s cheeks turn pink for a second, and it’s the only spot of color on him. Bucky thinks his fever got worse all of a sudden, but then Steve sticks his hand under his pillow and pulls out Bucky’s notebook. “I found this in the hallway when I went to the bathroom last night. I couldn’t get back to bed for a while because I still felt really sick, so I sat on the floor and read your stories. Sorry.”

Bucky takes his notebook from him and stares down at it. “You read my stories?” No one’s ever read his stories except Becky.

Steve pulls his knees up to his chest. “I’m really sorry. They made me feel better. I liked the one about the guy who breaks up with his girlfriend and then gets caught by pirates.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to go all warm and pink. “Oh. That one wasn’t mine, actually. I saw that at the pictures.”

Steve shrugs and runs one of his bony fingers over the cover of the book from Mama. “The writing was still good though. You’re smart with your words. I’m not that good at reading or writing because I missed so much school and my mom’s always working. And learning isn’t any fun when you don’t feel good.”

“If you’re feeling better, I can teach you,” Bucky tells him. He likes to teach Becky things all the time, so maybe he could teach Steve too!

He thought Steve would be as excited as Becky, but he just frowns again. If he keeps frowning his face is gonna get stuck like that. That gives Bucky an idea for a story, so he promises himself he’ll write it down later.

“My mom and me are already staying here for free. You don’t gotta teach me stuff too.”

Bucky pats him on the knee. “We’re friends!”

Steve looks as skeptical as Becky. It’s funny. Steve’s a funny kid. Bucky really likes him. “Since when?”

“Since right now!” Bucky holds his hand out and wiggles his fingers. “I, James Buchanan Barnes, promises to be Steven—what’s your middle name?”

Steve is trying his hardest not to laugh now, but he’s not doing a good job. “Grant.”

“Steven Grant Rogers’s best friend to the end! Okay?”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and it’s as small as Becky’s but as sweaty as Dad’s. “I’ve never had a best friend before.”

“Me neither,” Bucky tells him honestly. “I’ve got some regular friends though.”

“That’s more than I’ve got. No one wants to be friends with someone who’s small and sick all of the time.”

He looks kind of sad so Bucky throws his arm around his shoulders. “That’s their loss then. You’re gonna be the best best friend in the whole world and everyone is gonna be so jealous of me.”

Steve ducks his head, but he looks happy again.

Suddenly the door to the room opens and Mama peeks her head in. When she sees them she smiles. “I thought you got lost! Looks like you were just making friends.”

Bucky pulls Steve into him. “Mama, this is Steve Rogers. He’s my new best friend.”

“We’ve met. How are you feeling, Steve? James here isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“No, Mrs. Barnes,” Steve says. “He’s being really nice to me.”

“Well that’s good to hear. And call me Winnie, huh? Mrs. Barnes is my mother-in-law.”

Steve gets pink again. He does that a lot. “Yes, Winnie.”

Mama opens the door a little more. “James, why don’t we let Steve get some rest? He had a very rough night last night.”

Bucky frowns but does as he’s told and climbs off the bed. “I’ll be back later, Steve. I promise.”

“Okay, Bucky. And thanks for the presents. They’re really neat.”

Bucky gives him a salute like his dad taught him and goes to Mama.

“Oh, Steve, your mom is going to church with Mabel and Margaret, but she’ll be back later, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen, so just ring the bell if you need anything.”

“Okay, Mrs. Barnes.” Mama gives him a look and Steve ducks his head again. “Winnie.”

Bucky helps Mama and Edna clean up the mess from breakfast while Becky dances in the parlor with Rose and Norma and Paulette. After everything is all neat and tidy Mama takes Becky outside to play in the snow and Bucky sits down on the floor by the fire writing his new story about the boy who frowned so much that his face got stuck like that and everyone thought he was always mad. Paulette decides to reenact scenes from a picture she said she saw and while Edna and Rose and Norma are all laughing at her, Bucky suddenly wishes Steve were here. He knows that he’s sick and has to stay in bed to feel better, but Bucky thinks he’d really like this. Paulette is such a character.

Bucky wonders if this is what it’s like to have a best friend, to always want to share with them. He thinks he’s fine with that. Steve seems really nice, so he wouldn’t mind sharing.

Steve’s mom comes back from church with Mrs. Delaney and Miss Mabel right when Bucky’s starting to get hungry again for lunch, and they brought a great big thing of warm sandwiches from the delicatessen with them. After everyone takes turns in the downstairs bathroom washing up, Mama passes out the sandwiches and everyone sits down at the dining room table to eat.

“I’m going to go check on Steven,” Mrs. Rogers says, grabbing another sandwich from the tray.

“I’ll do it!” Bucky says, getting up from his chair. “I can eat with him too, if you want. I’m good company.”

Everyone at the table laughs a little, but Mrs. Rogers hands him the sandwich and ruffles his hair. “You’re a good boy. Thank you.”

Steve is in the middle of a coughing fit when Bucky goes into the room without knocking, and he waits until he’s done and drank some water before giving him his sandwich.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Steve says it like he’s never eaten in his life. When he unwraps it his eyes go as big as saucers. “Roast beef?”

Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed with his hot turkey sandwich. “You don’t like roast beef? Wanna trade?”

 _“No,”_ Steve starts stuffing his face. When he swallows his gigantic bite he says, “We never afforded roast beef. Thanks, Bucky.”

“No problem.”

They sit there and eat their sandwiches and drink the rest of the warm-ish water from the big glass pitcher on the table and Bucky decides he likes having Steve as a best friend. He doesn’t always like to run around and play and get tired, and it doesn’t seem like Steve does that kind of thing.

When they’re done eating, Bucky asks Steve, “Do you wanna read? I started a new story and I have my notebook here.”

Steve makes a face like he’s thinking really hard. “I wanna get out of bed. I feel like I’ve been sitting here my whole life.”

Bucky jumps up, and his socks slip against the floor. “Then let’s go! Everyone’s in the dining room still I think.”

He helps Steve get out of bed and _wow_ he’s really short. He’s probably as short as Becky and she’s a year younger than him! Steve puts on a pair of socks and warm pants and a button shirt. He coughs some more into his arm and they leave the room.

“Did you write anything else about me and my mom in your notebook?”

“Huh?”

Steve takes his notebook from him and flips to the page in the back where he writes about all the guests in the boarding house. He didn’t write anymore about Steve and Mrs. Rogers because he was too busy writing the story about the boy who frowned all the time.

“This. What’s it for?” Steve asks.

“Oh, I like to write down a bunch of stuff about everyone who stays here so I can use them in my stories later,” Bucky tells him. “That and I just really like everyone and I don’t wanna forget them. Come on.”

He grabs Steve’s sweaty little hand and drags him down the hallway and into the parlor. They sit down on the couch by the windows so they can see across the hall into the dining room where everyone is still eating. It sounds like Paulette is telling another one of her stories.

“Okay, so,” he starts at the beginning of the table where Mama is sitting with her back facing them. “That’s my mom. You already know her. That’s where I sit, and next to my chair is Mrs. Delaney. Her name is Margaret and she’s been here for about a month now.”

“People can stay here that long?” Steve asks from next to him. He looks paler out here under all the bright lights in the parlor, but he definitely looks like he feels better than he did last night.

“Yeah! One time we had a lady stay here for a whole _year._ She paid whenever she could and was a really good cook so Mama didn’t mind. But anyways, Mrs. Delaney has a really mean husband back home who hit her a lot, so she’s staying here until their divorce is finished. She’s really nice and wears a lot of pretty jewelry that Becky likes to wear sometimes and she thinks I’m gonna be a famous writer.”

“I thought you don’t let anyone read your stories?”

“Yeah, she’s never read any of them, so I don’t know why she thinks that.”

Steve laughs a little. “Maybe she can see the future like the ladies at Coney Island.”

Bucky laughs too. “That would be really cool, but I don’t think so. She’s not scary enough like those ladies. They always scared me and Becky. Okay, next to Mrs. Delaney is Mabel Cassella. She’s a nurse like Mama used to be.”

“Yeah, she was really nice to me last night too,” Steve says. “I don’t like doctors and stuff but she was really kind. She wears the same perfume as my mom.”

“Miss Mabel got here last week after she moved from New Jersey looking for a job and a place to live. I think I heard her telling Mama that she found a job though so I think she’s gonna leave soon.”

“Oh.”

Bucky points at Paulette. “That’s Paulette Ruckman. She came all the way from Tennessee to be an actress.”

“An actress? Like in the pictures?” Steve’s eyes go really wide at that. “That’s so _cool.”_

“Yeah! She’s really funny so she wants to be in the sort of pictures that Charles Chaplin and Buster Keaton make. I think she can do it, she’s really funny. I’m gonna miss her when she leaves.”

“Why’s she staying here? Did she just move here too?”

“No, she’s been in New York for a couple of years, I think, but she doesn’t have enough money for a place of her own yet and the last boarding house she was at kicked her out because she snuck out to meet with her boyfriend.”

_“Ooh.”_

“Yeah, but Mama doesn’t care about stuff like that, so she hasn’t kicked her out yet.”

“Has your mom ever kicked anyone out before?” Steve asks.

Bucky taps his chin. “I don’t think so. Mama’s really nice, so everyone is nice back.”

Steve has another coughing fit, and it makes everyone look over at them. Mrs. Rogers gets up while everyone’s looking and hurries into the parlor. She brushes Steve’s hair with her fingers and presses her mouth to his forehead to see if his fever went away.

“Love, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m feeling better, Mom. I wanted to stretch my legs.”

Mrs. Rogers smiles at him and then smiles at Bucky. “You’ll tuck him back in when he starts to feel poor again, won’t you, James?”

“‘Course, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky tells her seriously. “Steve here is my new best friend, so I’ll look after him.”

A complicated look crosses Mrs. Rogers’s face, kind of like she wants to cry but not really, and then she ruffles his hair again like she did when she gave him Steve’s sandwich. “I’m so glad to hear that. Steven could use a friend like you.”

And then she goes back into the dining room and when she sits down everyone turns away from them and goes back to whatever they were talking about.

“I really like your mom,” Bucky tells Steve.

“Yeah, me too,” Steve tells him. “Who’s that across Paulette? She looks kind of sad.”

“Oh, that’s Edna May. She’s only sixteen and she’s staying here because her parents kicked her out.”

“What? Why? How could they do that?”

“Well she was gonna have a baby but she didn’t know who the dad was and her parents got really mad over that so they made her go stay at one of those special places where girls go, and while she was there her baby died so they kicked her out too but her parents wouldn’t let her come back home so she came here instead.”

Steve is quiet for a while and when Bucky looks back at him he looks really sad.

“What’s the matter, Steve?”

“That’s just really sad. I feel bad for her.”

Bucky puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mama’s looking after her. She won’t be sad forever.”

“I hope not.”

Bucky pats Steve on the back and pulls his arm away. “No one’s sad forever.”

Finally Steve smiles a little. “Yeah, you’re right. Who’s that next to Edna May?”

“That’s Norma Wilder, and next to her is Rose Price,” he gets really close to Steve so he can whisper. “They’re together.”

Steve pulls back to look at him. “Huh?”

“They’re like boyfriend and girlfriend, except they’re both girls.”

“They’re dating?!” Steve squawks like a bird. “They can’t do that!”

Bucky slaps his hand over Steve’s mouth and looks towards the dining room to make sure no one heard him. They didn’t, so he takes his hand off of Steve’s mouth. “Be quiet! You wanna go scream it from the roof?”

Steve goes pink and looks down. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Yeah, they’re dating. It’s no big deal. There’s no reason girls can’t go along with girls and boys can’t go along with boys. Mama told me it’s fine.”

Steve looks constipated. He does way too much thinking for such a little kid. “But I thought that’s wrong.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “That’s what they tell us at church.”

“The church aren’t the police, Steve.”

“The police says it’s wrong too though.”

“The police says everything’s wrong, that’s why you can’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Steve’s face goes really red then. “Oh. Being your friend is really interesting.”

Bucky snorts like a pig and ruffles Steve’s blond hair like Mrs. Rogers keeps doing to him. “I can teach you a buncha stuff they won’t teach you at school.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome! Wanna know more about Rose and Norma?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Okay, so, they both go to college, so they’re not here much, but they always stay here during holiday breaks and stuff.”

“They can’t go home either?”

“No, their parents think they’re flappers and they hate flappers. But I like them, they’re really nice. And they’re _not_ flappers. Norma always helps me with my schoolwork and Rose loves playing with Becky and showing her new hairstyles. And Rose’s last name makes me think of Oscar Wilde and I really like Oscar Wilde’s stories.”

“Who’s Oscar Wilde?”

Bucky opens up his notebook to a fresh page and writes with his pencil _show Steve Oscar Wilde book._ “You’re gonna love him. I read his stories all the time!”

“Wow, you’re really nice to me,” Steve tells him. “No one at school ever shares their books with me.”

“We’re best friends! I wanna share everything with you!”

Steve goes pink for the millionth time since Bucky met him. “Gee.”

Bucky pats him on the back. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Sarah and Steve lived with us for a little over three years, and it was the best years of my life. I thought that then and I still think it now. They were the longest staying tenants we ever had, and they never paid a cent. But they paid us, alright. Sarah paid us back in her wonderful peach cobbler and her handknit gifts and the duets her and Ma would give us from time to time. And Steve…_

_Steve was the golden child of the house; sometimes I think Ma preferred him over me. He always helped his mother out with her chores and kept the other tenants entertained with his drawings (he drew everyone a self portrait as a thank-you for staying at “Miss Winnie’s lovely home”) and he was obsessed with cleaning, even when the dust would irritate his lungs so bad he’d have to go to bed early with my Ma hot on his heels. To this day he’s still paying us back in ways that would fill up an entire novel in itself, and he’ll probably be doing it for the rest of his life too._

_Steve was the brother I never had but always wanted, and we’d both gotten used to being in each other’s pockets; having sleepovers in my room all the way up on the third floor, hanging out on the playground at school. We did everything together, and we thought it would never end. But, of course, as I’ve so brutally learned over the years, all good things eventually do. And in the spring of 1928, Sarah Rogers got a job and we thought it was the end of the world…_

**1928**

“James Buchanan, if you don’t get out of here, so help me.”

Mama swats at him with her feather duster for the millionth time, but Bucky doesn’t move an inch.

“I wanna listen to music!”

“And I wanna clean this house.” She grabs the records up off the floor, shoves them back into their cubbies, and slams the door shut in his face. “Bring the radio upstairs if you’re so keen on your music. Do you see how empty it is in here? I finally got a chance to do some proper cleaning.”

“But _Moooom._ There’s never anything good on the radio.”

Mama makes that noise she makes whenever she’s gonna say, _You’re giving me gray hairs._

“You’re giving me gray hairs. Come on, up you get.”

She grabs the back of his shirt and lifts him up off the floor like he’s a baby and not like he just turned eleven. Bucky begrudgingly gets up (that’s a new word he learned at school) and crosses his arms.

“You and Steve are always holed up here. And while I appreciate the help, sometimes you’re just a nuisance.”

“Hey!”

She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I say that out of love, James. Why don’t the two of you go outside? Rebecca is playing with her friends at the park. _Because it’s a beautiful day out.”_

Bucky actually does wanna go outside. It _is_ really nice out; it’s the first warm-ish day in a long time and all of the snow is finally all gone. But last night Steve had a really bad asthma attack because he sat in front of the fireplace too long and he’s been sleeping all morning. And wherever Steve is, Bucky’s right there. Because they’re best friends, duh.

Mama shuts the phonograph off and puts her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you bring your father some lunch? I’m sure he’ll love to see you.”

Bucky makes a face, but Mama makes an even worse face, so he doesn’t say anything. “Yes, Mama.”

“There’s leftovers in the Frigidaire. And if you’re bringing Steve with you, make sure he’s bundled up. It’s still a bit nippy out.”

So that’s what Bucky does, because he doesn’t like to make Mama angry. He goes into the kitchen through the door in the hallway and makes Dad a sandwich from the leftovers they ate for dinner last night and puts it in one of the brown bags Mama puts his and Becky’s school lunch into. He leaves the bag on the counter and runs upstairs. If him and Steve are gonna go out, they might as well bring something to do, so he grabs his brand-new book of stories by Oscar Wilde that he got for his birthday last month. It’s his first time reading _adult_ stories by Oscar Wilde, and him and Steve really like them, even if they are a bit scary.

Bucky runs into Viv on his way back downstairs, who’s been here for the last couple of weeks because her fiancé broke up with her, but she doesn’t seem all that torn up about it. She’s been at a doctor's appointment all morning. She’s smiling like she just won a prize at the carnival, all pink in the face and shining.

“Hey, Viv,” Bucky waves as he passes her.

She doesn’t say anything, but then says, “Oh, Bucky!” like she just noticed he was there. Mama says sometimes pregnant ladies can be a little scatterbrained, but that’s okay. Bucky thinks she’s funny. She’s on the landing when he turns around, and she reaches out to grab his hand, and her eyes are sparkling. Bucky definitely doesn’t feel that happy after having to see the doctor. But then again, usually Mama is his doctor, and sometimes Sarah too since she’s been learning about medicine.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but my doctor said he thinks I might have a boy.”

Bucky can feel himself smile too. Another boy in the house! How cool!

“Wow, congratulations!” He tells her. “You should name him James.”

Viv laughs and pinches his cheek. “We’ll see. Where are you off to? Finally going out to play? I passed your sister on my way back.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, me and Steve are going to bring my dad some lunch at his job.”

Viv pinches his cheek again. “You’re so cute. You and Steve. So adorable. Oh, I sure hope I have a boy, and I hope he’s just like you.”

And then she skips upstairs, one hand on her belly and the other holding her hat on. Bucky shakes his head and goes downstairs with his book of stories to get Steve.

Steve is awake and sitting in the window when Bucky lets himself into the room. He’s still looking kind of pale, but he’s always pale. Maybe the fresh air will do him some good.

“Hiya, Steve!”

Steve smiles sleepily at him. He’s still in his pajamas! “Hiya, Buck. Watcha got there?”

Bucky shows him the book. “Just Mr. Wilde. I’m gonna bring Dad some lunch, wanna come with? We can sit in the park and read after.”

“Sounds like the bee’s knees. I feel much better than I did last night.”

Bucky hurries over to help Steve out of the window so he doesn’t break his neck. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Steve Rogers after him living here for so long it’s that he’s a klutz.

“Great, cuz I was gonna make you come with me anyway.”

Steve laughs and pushes Bucky away when he’s safely on the floor. “Now I know why Mom calls you a menace sometimes.”

“She calls me that?”

“No.”

Bucky gives Steve a wet willy and runs from the room. When he gets Dad’s lunch from the kitchen he puts his shoes and a coat and hat on and waits for Steve by the front door. Finally, after a million years, Steve comes loping down the hallway in a pair of overalls that used to be Bucky’s and his favorite jacket.

“Come on, slow poke, it’ll be quittin’ time soon.”

“Tell that to my chest, Buck. You didn’t almost die again last night.”

“Have fun, boys!” Mama calls from the parlor. “Be sure to bring Rebecca back with you!”

“Yes, Mama!”

“Yes, Winnie!”

Bucky makes Steve carry the book so he doesn’t feel completely useless, and they start off in the direction of the factory. It seems like everyone in the world is out today, walking dogs and babies and selling stuff, and Bucky kind of wishes he asked Steve earlier if he wanted to go outside, because it’s nicer than he thought. Mr. Romero who runs the pizzaria is sweeping in front of his shop and waves when the two of them go by, and the smell of pizza makes Bucky so hungry he wonders how angry his dad would be if he took a bite of his sandwich.

There’s a cop paroling at the end of the block twirling his big stick in his hand and they hurry past him without catching his eye. But when they think they’re far enough away from him, he calls out, “Hey, yous.”

Steve looks like he’s about to keel over when they turn around. The cop is big and scary-looking and has his hands on his hips.

“You two live at the Barnes place, right?”

“Yessir,” Bucky tells him, trying to sound older than he is. They’ve never had trouble at the house before, except for that one time when a lady who was in the papers for stealing her husband’s pocket watch and selling it for a train ticket to Pennsylvania asked for a room. And Mama gave her one too before one of the other guests recognized her and called the police. Mama’s just way too nice (and never reads the paper like Steve’s mom does).

But the cop doesn’t say anything, just _hmph’_ s and turns back around. When he and Steve continue on their way, Steve lets out a huge breath.

“That was close. Why’d he stop us?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Everyone thinks Mama runs some sort of dirty ladies’s house because she doesn’t let boys stay.”

“Like a brothel?”

Bucky looks at him. “How’d you know what a brothel is?”

Steve shrugs his bony shoulders. “Maggie Wills.”

Maggie Wills was a flapper who stayed at the house last year that snuck some hooch in and got drunk. She was the first person Mama ever kicked out, so it kind of makes sense she would tell Steve what a brothel is. She told Bucky all about the different drugs she did at her fancy speakeasy parties.

Which is why it’s so funny to Bucky that so many people think his house is some sort of dirty sex lair, since Mama isn’t afraid to kick people out that’ll tarnish her reputation (that’s another word he learned).

When they pass the butcher shop, Mr. Collins sticks his head out. “Hey Jimmy!”

“Afternoon, Mr. Collins,” him and Steve say at the same time.

“Tell your Ma we’re having a sale on those pork chops she likes so much, yeah?”

“Okay, Mr. Collins!”

“Oh boy, I hope your mom makes pork chops soon,” Steve tells him. “They’re so good.”

When they pass the park that’s across the street from Dad’s job, they find Becky having a tea party on a picnic blanket with a couple of her little girlfriends. She waves when they go by, and they wave back. The canning factory is a looming monster with huge smoke stacks that make it look like a sort of castle. Bucky hates coming here. He wishes it was an actual castle and not—

“Well, look who it is! The dynamic duo.”

Mr. Schmidt is standing outside smoking a cigarette. He’s Adam Schmidt’s dad that’s in Steve’s class at school and the whole family is big and mean and probably in the mob. Mr. Schmidt doesn’t particularly like him and Steve because one time over the summer Adam and his goonies were beating up on Steve because he became friends with Emmy Hallowell who Adam has eyes for, and when Bucky found out he busted Adam Schmidt’s nose and Adam told his dad, who told Bucky’s dad, who gave Bucky hell.

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and they hurry inside.

Miss Blakely is at her desk when they go in, typing up a storm on her typewriter. The metal clanging and creaking and shouts from the room with all the machines are muffled, and it makes Bucky kind of nervous for some reason.

“Hi, Miss Blakely,” Steve says because he’s the one with all the manners.

Miss Blakely looks up and smiles when she sees them. “Well, well, well, wouldja looky here,” she says in her Helen Kane voice. “Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes! To what do I owe the pleasure, hm? You lookin’ for ya daddy, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky goes a little warm, and scuffles his feet shyly against the cement floor. “Yes, ma’am. We brought him lunch,” he holds up the brown bag, and Miss Blakely looks like he brought over the Declaration of Independence.

“Oh, my, he’s going to just _love_ that,” she types some more on her typewriter and tears the piece of paper out and picks up her telephone, all the while smiling at Steve and Bucky. He shares a look with Steve, and they almost laugh. “Hi, Joe? Tell Barnes he’s got a visitor, wouldja? He going on lunch? Perfect, I’ll send them down.”

Miss Blakely hangs up and turns back to them.

“Your daddy’s just gone to lunch; you boys remember where the cafeteria’s at? Down there through those doors and make a left, it’s the room with all the lockers, huh? Oh, Georgie’s gonna just love that you’re here, he’s had a bug up his ass all morning. But what’s new, amirite?”

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Thanks, Miss Blakely.”

“Of course, sweetheart, of course! You boys be careful now, huh?”

They go out of the big doors and into the long hallway. Bucky hates coming to the factory, it always makes him feel so small, and he doesn’t like feeling small.

“Miss Blakely must always have two cups of coffee in the morning,” Steve whispers to him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He stands a little closer to Steve so that their shoulders bump. “Her perky mood almost makes me forget why we’re here.”

“It’ll be okay, Buck.”

Bucky scoffs. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a dad.”

It’s a mean thing to say, and Bucky doesn’t like to be mean because he doesn’t want to be like Dad. But Steve knows he didn’t mean it, so he throws his bird arm around Bucky’s shoulders and gives him an awkward hug.

This is why Bucky likes having Steve as his best friend.

When they get into the cafeteria, a long room with three long tables, it’s full of factory workers in their dirty shirts and overalls, and they stand at the door looking over the sea of men.

“You fit right in,” Bucky leans down to say into Steve’s good ear. “You already got the uniform.”

“Shuddup,” Steve elbows him, then points. “There!”

Bucky follows his finger and finds his dad across the room sitting on one of the tables with his feet on the chair eating an apple and smoking a cigarette. Bucky swallows and they start towards him. Halfway across the room Steve grabs Bucky’s hand again and Bucky squeezes it like they’re about to jump into a fight together.

Dad doesn’t notice them until they’re right at the table, and it’s only because one of the guys sitting by him hits him on the knee and points at them. Then he looks over, and he doesn’t look happy to see them.

“James,” he says, biting into his apple and blowing smoke through his nose at the same time. Bucky hopes the smoke doesn’t bother Steve’s chest again. Dad barely even looks at Steve.

Bucky holds out the bag. “I made you lunch. All by myself.”

That seems to interest him, and he leans forward and takes the bag from Bucky.

“Well ain’t that sweet,” says another one of Dad’s friends, but it sounds sarcastic, like Becky gets sometimes.

Another guy points his drumstick at Steve and says, “Who’s this little runt? Wendy finally go and leave you, Barnes?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand a little tighter.

Dad snorts like a pig and takes out the sandwich Bucky made him. He wrapped it up in some of Mama’s parchment paper she uses to bake with and tied a little piece of string around it. “She wouldn’t dare.”

Dad tears off the string and paper and throws it behind him onto the table and shoves the sandwich into his mouth without even seeing what it is.

All of dad’s friends laugh and eat and drink from their thermoses and smoke. Bucky kind of hates them all, and he doesn’t care if that’s mean.

“Are you coming home tonight, Mr. Barnes?” Steve asks with the sort of confidence he musters up before getting his butt kicked.

Bucky yanks at Steve’s arm because _he doesn’t always have to be so polite!_

When Dad just stares at Steve while he eats his sandwich, Steve goes on, and Bucky can feel his hand getting all gross and sweaty.

“Because, uh, Mrs. Barnes cleaned the house today since there aren’t a lot of guests and you know when she does that she takes us all out to the movies.”

“No thanks, champ,” Dad says with a mouth full of food without giving it any thought. Bucky isn’t disappointed though. “Working overtime again.”

“Yeah, he sure will be,” says one of the guys sitting next to Dad, and starts elbowing him in the side. Dad looks over at him, cheeks stuffed full, and plucks the cigarette out of the guy’s mouth and stubs it out on the sleeve of his white shirt. That shuts him up real quick.

Bucky’s just about to turn around and leave when Dad reaches out and grabs the book of stories right out of Steve’s grip. “What is this? Better not be carting around library books again, James, you know what I told you last time when you got that other book all dirtied up.”

“No, sir,” Bucky tells him. “I got that for my birthday.”

Dad looks at him with his cigarette in the corner of his mouth like he doesn’t remember when that was (he does—he got Bucky a wristwatch that’s too big for him to wear), and looks down at the book. He makes a face.

“Who got you this? Your mother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it, George?” Says a guy sitting behind dad on the other side of the table. He leans over the table to see the book, then laughs.

Dad’s ears get all warm, and he shoves the book back against Steve’s chest, which almost knocks him over. “What’d I tell you about reading that garbage, huh? I told your mother that, but she doesn’t listen. Neither of you do.” He takes an angry bite of his sandwich. “And quit holding hands. I ain’t raising a pervert.”

Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand even though he really doesn’t want to, and then he says something he definitely meant to keep inside.

“You don’t raise me anyway.”

It was quiet, but Dad hears it anyway, and goes red in the face. All his friends start hooting and hollering like it was the funniest thing they ever heard. Dad slides off the table and stands in front of them with his hands on his hips.

“What did you just say to me?”

Bucky runs, and he pulls Steve along with him. They run through the cafeteria and down the hallway, and they don’t stop until they’re back at Miss Blakely’s desk, who’s eating from a dented can of peaches that she must have gotten from the dud pile and listening to the radio on her desk that’s playing a Bessie Smith song. By then Steve’s gasping like a fish.

“My, where’s the fire?” Miss Blakely laughs. “Mr. Rogers, you alright?”

Steve hacks like a cat with a hairball and gives her a thumbs up. Bucky thumps him on the back.

Miss Blakely pulls a drawer open on her desk and rummages around inside it. Then she says, “Heads up!” and Bucky’s catching something in his hands before he even knows what’s happening. When he looks down at his hands he finds a wrapped candy.

“Cough drop!” Miss Blakely says.

Bucky unwraps the candy and gives it to Steve, who pops it into his mouth.

“You boys have a good day now, huh? Enjoy that sunshine! And Mr. Barnes—tell your mama I said hello. I do love that woman. Such a great sense of style.”

“Will do, Miss Blakely,” Bucky tells her, and him and Steve leave the factory.

Steve doesn’t stop coughing until they’re at the park across from the factory, and he spits the candy out into the grass. “That tasted awful! But it sure worked. I think.”

Bucky stops at the next tree and sits down. “Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to make you run.”

Steve sits down next to him. “That’s okay, Buck. That was really brave of you to say to your Dad. If he wasn’t your dad and he wasn’t big, I would’ve socked him one for you.”

That makes Bucky laugh. “You’re swell. But I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean to! It just came out…”

“That means you were supposed to say it.”

“Well that sounds like baloney, because now I’m gonna get hell.”

“Your dad said he wasn’t coming home tonight, so he wouldn’t come home just to give you hell.”

“Hm. I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am!”

Bucky laughs again. “Where’d you get such a smart mouth?”

“I’ve been friends with you too long, I guess.” Steve places the book down in the grass. “Now come on, let’s read. We haven’t finished the story about the ghost yet.”

Bucky watches as Steve flips through the book looking for _The Canterville Ghost,_ feeling all warm and happy inside like he never saw his dad today at all.

When they finish reading _The Canterville Ghost,_ they crawl out from under the tree and lie on their backs to watch the clouds go by. It’s a lot of fun. None of Bucky’s other friends would go cloud watching with him.

“I wonder why your dad hates Oscar Wilde so much. Do you think he knew him? Maybe they got into a fight together.”

Bucky kicks at Steve. “That’s stupid. Oscar Wilde died like thirty years ago, my teacher said so. And besides, he lived in England.”

“Well then I wonder what his problem is.”

Bucky shrugs and tries to decide whether the cloud that’s floating by looks like a dog or a rabbit. “I’ll ask Mrs. Greene in the library. She’ll probably know.”

“Make sure it’s during recess so I can go with you.”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet for a couple seconds, and then Steve says, “If you don’t wanna hold my hand anymore, that’s fine. I get it.”

Bucky props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Steve. “No way. You’re my best friend, Steve, and there’s nothing wrong with best friends holding hands. We’re practically brothers!”

Steve goes up on his elbow too. “Right! And it’s not like we like each other that way anyway.”

“Duh.”

They lay back down and hold hands and watch the clouds.

Bucky wakes up without even realizing that he fell asleep. Becky is standing over him, her nose almost touching his. When she sees he’s awake, she stands up straight.

“Mom probably doesn’t want me to go home without you.”

Bucky sits up and looks over to see Steve cuddled up on his side and holding his hat to his chest like a stuffed animal. He reaches over and smacks him on the cheek. Steve’s always been a light sleeper, so he startles awake.

“What? Oh, I fell asleep. Hi, Beck.”

“Hiya, Steve. Do you wanna get some pizza? Mom gave me some money.”

“She gave you money?” Bucky asks, standing up and helping Steve up too.

Becky shrugs and pulls the money out of the pocket on her sweater. “Mom likes me better.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky shoves him. “That’s a buncha baloney, Rebecca! Mama loves us both the same.”

“Yeah, okay, _James._ Who broke the latch on the phonograph?”

But she doesn’t wait for an answer, she just turns and runs, and Bucky laughs because she is _such_ a Barnes.

He and Steve catch up with her on the edge of the park and they head down to Romero’s and order a slice of pizza each and sit down at one of the tables inside since Mrs. Romero is working the register today and she never lets them take their pizza and leave. She says she doesn’t trust them not to make a mess of themselves.

While they’re eating and kicking their feet under the table, Bucky tells Becky, “Me and Steve brought Dad his lunch, and he told me to tell you that he loves you.”

“Really?” Becky’s face lights up like the Fourth of July, and that’s exactly why he told her that, even though it’s not true. Dad treats her fine, so what’s the use in telling her that Dad is actually a big ole meanie?

Steve kicks his foot softly under the table and when Bucky looks at him he smiles.

The other day Bucky learned what the word _sacrifice_ means in school, and he thinks maybe that’s what he just did.

After they finish their pizza and leave Mrs. Romero a tip like Mama taught them to, the three of them leave and start back off towards home. Becky is holding hands with Steve, and it makes Bucky happy because it’s like she’s got two big brothers now. Every little girl should have a couple of big brothers to look after them.

When they’re almost home, Bucky sees Mrs. Rogers hurrying down the street with her purse held to her chest, and he stops walking and grabs Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, isn’t that your mom?”

Steve squints, then says, “Yeah! Why’s she coming from the direction of the hospital?”

“Maybe she’s sick,” Becky says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No,” says Steve, watching his mom hurry along. “Mom doesn’t get sick.”

“Let’s go ask her!” Becky cries and starts off in a run, dragging Steve along with her. Bucky jogs after them.

They lose sight of Mrs. Rogers by the time they’re all climbing up the stairs to the house, and when they go in they can hear Mrs. Rogers talking with Mama down the hall. Steve is all huffing and puffing again, and Bucky puts his finger to his lips so he’d be quiet. Steve coughs quietly into his elbow and they all creep down the hall towards their mom’s voices. They’re in the laundry room, and when Bucky peeks around the corner he sees Mama folding some clothes while Mrs. Rogers talks to her.

“I was expecting much less,” Mrs. Rogers is saying. “With no experience and no schooling and the way the economy is right now, I’m so happy.”

“And I’m happy for you!” Mama says. “This is so great, Sarah, you have no idea. Do you know how lucky you are?”

“Yes, and for that I have the good Lord to thank. And you, of course. You taught me everything I know, Win.”

They go quiet, and Bucky shrugs at Becky and Steve, who look as confused as he feels. It doesn’t sound like she’s sick…

“Hey, what are you kids doing?”

Viv is standing in the foyer in pajamas and bare feet with her hair all messy like she just woke up from a nap. As always, she’s smiling. Bucky doesn’t think she’s ever mad or sad. When they all turn to look at her, Mama and Mrs. Rogers come out of the laundry room behind them. They quickly look back at their moms, and Viv walks past them into the kitchen, laughing.

“Hi, Mom!” Becky says like they weren’t just caught eavesdropping.

“Steven, are you alright?” Mrs. Rogers asks Steve, pushing past them all to get ahold of him. Steve coughs in his mom’s face.

“Yeah, we just ran around a little. I’m fine, honest.”

But for once Mrs. Rogers doesn’t even look worried. She just kisses Steve on the head and looks back at Mama and smiles all huge.

“Mrs. Sarah, are you sick?” Becky asks.

Mrs. Rogers let out a startled laugh. She’s holding Steve against her front and is rubbing his chest. Steve tilts his head back to look up at her face. The only one who doesn’t seem confused is Becky; Bucky’s not sure when she grew out of her suspicious phase.

“Oh, sweet girl, no.”

“Sarah was just speaking with Doctor Leonard,” Mama tells them, playing with Becky’s hair. Doctor Leonard is the doctor that comes here when someone is too sick for Mama to help. He’s been friends with Mama since the war.

“But you’re not sick?” Bucky asks.

Mama and Mrs. Rogers share another look, and they still look happy. Almost like they have some _really_ good news.

“He gave me a job,” Mrs. Rogers says. “And now we can finally start paying your mom back properly for her hospitality.”

“I’m not taking a dime from you, Sarah Rogers,” Mama says sternly, pointing her finger.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to find a place of our own, because under good conscience I can no longer have you let us stay in your home for free, Win.”

Bucky feels like his heart just dropped all the way down to his toes, and when he looks at Steve, he looks paler than normal.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mrs. Rogers squeezes Steve and kisses him on the head again.

Becky stomps her foot and runs upstairs.

“Rebecca Marie!” Mama calls after her, but Becky doesn’t come back down.

If Bucky was a little girl he’d probably run upstairs too. Steve is moving _out?_ But they’re brothers! They promised to be best friends forever! What if he and Mrs. Rogers move all the way to New Jersey? Bucky was really good friends with Danny Kingsley last year but then he moved to New Jersey and he hasn’t talked to him since!

Mama and Mrs. Rogers kneel down in front of them at the same time and hold onto his and Steve’s hands.

“This is a good thing,” Sarah tells them both softly. “Stevie, we’re finally going to have our own apartment again. Maybe even a house one day! Wouldn’t you like that?”

Steve looks at Bucky. “I don’t wanna leave, though.”

“I know, my love, but it’s the right thing to do. And we always do the right thing, hm?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Are you moving to New Jersey?” Bucky asks, kind of feeling like he’s going to cry. Between his dad being a huge jerk again and Steve moving to New Jersey, this is the worst day ever.

Mrs. Rogers pinches his cheek. _“No,_ James. No, I’ll be helping Doctor Leonard make house calls since there’s no room for me at nursing school, and the hospital doesn’t take anyone on that doesn’t have any schooling, so Stevie and I will probably be moving closer to the hospital, that’s all. Okay?”

“Are me and Bucky still gonna be able to see each other?” Steve asks, taking his hand. Bucky squeezes it hard. They know their moms won’t tell them not to hold hands like Dad did.

“I don’t think even death could keep the two of you apart,” Mama laughs. “Steve will be able to come over whenever he wants, and you, James, can go to their new apartment whenever you want to. Sound good?”

Bucky shares a look with Steve, and they both shrug.

“Guess so.”

“Yeah.”

The rest of the guests start coming home then, Helen (who just got divorced from her husband that was cheating on her) and Flora (Helen’s daughter) and Evelyn (who’s apartment got broken into last week so she’s staying here until they fix everything that the robber messed up), and Steve and Bucky go upstairs to Bucky’s room while Mama gets dinner ready. When they’re in his room, Bucky throws himself onto his bed and buries his face in his pillow.

“Are you okay, Buck?” Steve asks, poking Bucky on the back.

Bucky flips over. “What if we never see each other again?” 

Steve sits down on the edge of the bed and brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Our moms said we will, though.”

“Moms _lie,_ Steve. Danny Kingsley told me that his mom told him that he’ll be able to visit but we haven’t seen him in months!”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “You’re right. And he still has my Max Carey baseball card!”

He looks like he’s thinking really hard then, and then he looks down at the book he’s still holding and smiles real wide, showing the spot where he lost his front tooth last week. Bucky was the one who showed him how to tie one end of a piece of string to his loose tooth and the other end to a doorknob, and feels proud every time he sees the hole in his mouth. What if they never get to show each other anymore baby teeth they lose?

“I’m gonna keep this for a while, then we _have_ to see each other so I can give it back.”

“But Danny still has your baseball card,” Bucky tells him.

Steve rolls his eyes like the little punk he is. “Yeah, but I’m barely even gonna be across town.”  
“But what about after you give me my book back? What if we only see each other at school? And we’re a year apart, so we only ever see each other during lunch and recess there anyway!” Bucky gasps, because he just thought of something. “And next year I’m gonna go to the junior high school!”

Steve’s face goes all scrunched, and he scratches at the back of his neck. Then he says, “I got it! It’s perfect, Buck, oh man.”

“What, Steve? Tell me!”

“We can write stories together! Like— you write and I draw, right?”

Bucky jumps off his bed and grabs Steve’s face so his cheeks are all smooshed. “Steve, you’re a genius! Smarter than Albert Einstein!”

“Reawy?”

“Yes!” Bucky lets go of him. “How did we not think of this before? You draw really good, and I write really good, I think, so it’s perfect! We’ll _really_ have to see each other. We’re already like brothers but now we can be _partners_ too.”

“Like business partners?”

“Yeah!”

Now Steve looks like he’s getting super excited. He slides off Bucky’s bed and hugs him really tight. Bucky hugs him back just as tight.

The bell above Bucky’s bed rings soon after, so they both run downstairs for dinner. Fixing all their problems sure left Bucky hungry.

Becky is already in her seat next to Flora who’s the same age as her, and she’s still sulking.

“Boys,” Mama says when she comes out of the kitchen with a big dish. When she puts it down on the table Bucky can see that it’s chicken and rice with a bunch of vegetables. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

“Much,” says Mrs. Rogers.

“We figured it all out,” Steve says, hands folded so he can say grace. “Bucky and I are gonna make stories together since I draw and Bucky writes, then we _have_ to see each other all the time. To have meetings about our stories.”

Mrs. Rogers shakes her head from the other end of the table, but she still looks happy.

Mama says, “Good logic, I think.”

“I wanna see Steve too!” Becky bangs her fists on the table, scaring Flora next to her.

“You can come, Beck,” Bucky tells her. “You can be the person to tell us if our stories are any good.”

Finally pleased, Becky takes a long drink of her milk.

“And Steve, you’re going to have to come visit when I have my baby!” Viv says. “He’s supposed to be coming at any time, and I know how much you would love to meet him.”

Steve gives Bucky a high five. This is all gonna work out _perfect._

When everyone’s said thanks and grace and their plates are all full, Mrs. Rogers says from her end of the table, “Doctor Leonard said I should have made enough money to get an apartment by next week.”

“Ain’t that somethin’?” says Evelyn, sticking a piece of asparagus into her mouth.

“Hear that, boys?” Mama asks as she cuts up Becky’s chicken for her. “You’ll have a whole week to plan this little business of yours.”

Bucky is so excited. More excited than he’s ever been in his whole entire life!

They spend the next few days making the rest of their plans during lunch and recess and after school while Mrs. Rogers works her new job with Doctor Leonard, and it’s _great._ They finish reading the Oscar Wilde book and then go to the public library to find more stories by him, and they do. And Bucky thinks Oscar Wilde is the best writer ever and wants to be just like him. Him and Steve read _The Fisherman and his Soul_ about a million times together.

And then over the weekend Mrs. Rogers tells them Doctor Leonard helped her figure everything out with their new apartment and him and Mama and Evelyn (since she’s all big and strong like a boxer) help Mrs. Rogers and Steve bring all their stuff to their new apartment by the hospital. It’s kind of a nice apartment, Bucky thinks. It’s not like his house at all, but it’s cozy. Like Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Indiana, or something. It’s only got one bedroom, but Steve and his mom don’t really seem to mind.

Finally when everything’s inside and Evelyn and Mrs. Rogers and Mama are drinking tea in the kitchen, Bucky goes into the bedroom with Steve and they both sit down on one of the beds.

“I’m gonna miss you, Buck. And your house. It was the nicest place I’ve ever been.”

Bucky reaches over and punches him lightly on the knee. “Aw, me too, Steve. But we’re gonna still see each other all the time. It’ll be like nothing changed!”

“Because we’re gonna be _business partners.”_

“Exactly.”

“You better keep writing down everything about all the new guests so we have characters to put into our stories.”

_“Duh.”_

They’re quiet for a couple of seconds, and it feels like a very grown up sort of quiet. Maybe that’s because they’re business partners now.

Then Steve gets up off his bed and throws his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“Best friends until the end, right?”

Bucky hugs him back. He really likes hugging Steve. “The very end. All the way until the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

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